


Landline

by Chrism



Category: Marvel, Marvel (Comics), Marvel 616
Genre: Canon Compliant, Cuddling & Snuggling, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Fluff, Food, Food as a Metaphor for Love, Hurt/Comfort, Mentions of brainwashing, Mentions of memory loss, Missing Scene, Penetrative Sex, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-22
Updated: 2015-03-22
Packaged: 2018-03-19 01:45:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,635
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3591696
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chrism/pseuds/Chrism
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>    “And to the victors, the spoils,” Natasha intoned,  holding out the jello cup for James to take. He frowned at it dubiously.</i>
  <br/>
  <i>“No victory burger, huh?” he asked hopefully, though he had to know the answer already. She just smiled at him, shook her head.</i>
  <br/>
  <i>“Two weeks without solid food,” Natasha reminded him, still holding out the snack. “Take it slow.” </i>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Bucky and Natasha connect and re-connect over food. Five moments spread across the years.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Landline

 

The folding chair squeaked as Natasha shifted, uncrossing her legs and crossing them again the other way. The medical rooms on the helicarrier weren't really meant for visitors, and she'd had to drag the chair in from the hall, but she knew she wouldn't have to wait much longer. The sedation they'd used on the Winter Soldier had worn off an hour ago, and now he was just sleeping. She wouldn't have blamed him for sleeping far longer than that; SHIELD's methods for removing mental programming and other brainwashing were effective but...rigorous. He'd be exhausted for a few days at the least. But if she knew Barnes at all, he'd be pulling himself awake soon to see how things went, and to get the hell off the 'carrier.

Barnes. _James_ Barnes. She formed the word and let it fall silently from her lips, testing the feel of it. James. It suited him, she thought, he looked like a James. She couldn't quite bring herself to call him 'Bucky', a child's nickname, no, that was for faded photographs and a teenaged grin, for Steve Rogers reminiscing over old photo albums. She wondered if he'd mind her calling him James, instead, and then why she was even concerned with that at all. In many ways, she'd never met the man before her, had no idea what he was truly like, and after all this time he didn't know her either. Who she'd become, or if she even remembered anything of him, or their past together. She didn't know if _he_ remembered it, even.

And this whole thing, being Captain America, well, Tony wasn't wrong. It could save him. After she'd defected, she'd had the Avengers to help her adjust and find her new place in the world, and now...there was nothing like that they could offer him. Just their divided community and more hiding, more secrets. But this, carrying the shield, would mean something to him, far more than a death wish and thirst for revenge or atonement. It could be enough to pull him through, or it could be the last blow to what little of himself he'd scrabbled together in the last year.

She'd lost him once already, failed him, lost track of him in all the years and given up on him, and she'd be damned if she let it happen again now that she'd found him. They'd been friends, or as close as they could get to it in those days, friends and perhaps a good bit more. She wasn't sure they could have that again, that he'd want anything to do with her at all, or if she would just be a painful reminder...but she wanted to try. She wouldn't leave him on his own with this, not when she had been there too, once, and she knew better than anyone what lay ahead for him. She had no idea if he'd accept it, but she hoped he would.

James stirred, groaned and clenched his eyes shut, reached up to gingerly touch his forehead. Natasha felt a twinge of sympathy, oh, she remembered that headache well.

“Good morning,” she greeted him simply, quietly. She'd left the lights low while she waited, for just this reason, but when he lifted his head he still squinted painfully at her, and then closed his eyes again.

“Nngghh,” was all he managed, and then a hoarse, “Natalia.” He pressed his hand over his eyes and carefully leaned back against the pillow with a wince.

“Hell,” he muttered. “Did they put it back in right?” She smiled and shook her head.

“Mostly, yes,” she said. “How are you feeling?”

“Like someone spent three days taking a cake mixer to my brain...and then pushed me out of a plane,” he answered wryly, without looking up. He turned his head an inch toward her, the ghost of a tired grin pulled at his lips, though his eyes stayed closed. “So, you know, same ol' same ol'.”

Natasha huffed out a quiet laugh. He was awfully cute, even when he looked like hell. “Sounds like you'll pull through,” she said, sardonic, careful not to sound quite as fond as she felt.

“Guess so,” he murmured, squinted his eyes open again to look at her consideringly, like he was finally awake enough to wonder why she was in his room in the first place.

“Good,” Natasha said, and stood, stepping near the bed to push the waiting cup of gelatin across the tray table and into his reach. He grimaced distastefully at it.

“Eat,” she said, more command than suggestion. Her voice softened. “Then rest. The headache will be gone in a day or so.” He frowned again at the jell-o but shifted up in the bed with a grunt, reached for the snack and held it so carefully with his left hand as he opened it. Always so mindful and gentle, with that hand, he always had been, and she wanted to step closer, feel his stubbled jaw, flip the messy hair off his forehead and--she took a step back.

“Thanks,” James said, his voice hoarse and gravelly, then gave her another tired but grateful smile. Natasha just nodded, shifted her weight, ready to leave but also not ready at all.

“I need to get back to work,” she started. “But I wanted to see” -- _you_ , what you're like without Department X twisting up your mind, see if you are _surviving_ \--”how you were, make sure they didn't misplace anything.” She gave him a cheeky smirk.

“I'll see you soon, James,” she told him, and didn't miss the way his eyes lit up, his quiet goodbye as she turned and left, smiling to herself all the way to Stark's office.

 

* * *

 

Natasha took a week tying up loose ends after taking out Imus Champion. Bucky had wanted to take her home right then, with her split lip and exhaustion in her eyes, but she said she needed time. She had that faraway look that he knew too well, that meant she needed to process and get her head back in order in her own way. He could give her that. Hell, he'd give her anything, all the space she needed. And he'd be waiting when she was ready to come home.

And now here she was, in her favorite spot in her apartment: the tub. The bathroom was steamy and quiet, afternoon sun streaming in the window, lavender and chamomile in the air. When he walked in she was leaned back against the edge of the tub, eyes closed, hair pulled up into a messy bun atop her head.

His breath caught just looking at her, face soft and warm in the yellow light, almost glowing with the sheen of sweat on her skin. She was stunning, as always, warmly content and looking like she might just melt the rest of the way beneath the water. He hadn't really planned her welcome home, not knowing exactly what she might be wanting, but he'd bought two new candles and a bottle of her favorite bath oil just in case.

Natasha turned her head slightly at the pad of his socked feet on the tile, opened her eyes lazily without lifting her head, and smiled up at him. Soft and quiet, it lit up her face in a way that about made Bucky's heart stop, and he couldn't help grinning back at her. Natasha reached out for the cup of tea he'd brought her, her eyes drifting shut with pleasure as she lifted the mug to her mouth and breathed in the steam curling off it. She breathed out on a sigh.

“Thank you, my love,” Natasha smiled warmly up at him, and Bucky leaned down, rubbed bubbles off her cheek with his thumb, and kissed her forehead.

“Need anything else?” Bucky brushed a loose strand of hair off her face, tucked it behind her ear. She shook her head.

“Sit with me?” She patted the edge of the tub near her shoulder, shifting a little in the water so he had room to sit. Well, that was no hardship, and Bucky sat there on the edge, didn't complain when she leaned her wet head against his thigh, her hair soaking warmly through his jeans. No place he'd rather be, really, and after those long weeks when she was gone, on the run, the word on every tongue that she was a traitor all along, that she'd sold out her friends, and him...well, he'd never believed it anyways, but he was so glad to have her home safe. He'd taken the night off (as much as any of them were ever off duty, at least), and if their whole evening was quiet and close like this, then he couldn't think of a better way to spend it.

Bucky brushed his fingertips over her cheek, into her hair, tangling lazily in the red curls piled on her head. Natasha sighed softly, leaned more heavily against his leg and closed her eyes. He dropped his hand to her neck, rubbed at the tension there firmly, and smiled a little as her shoulders eased down, relaxed in tiny increments, her head going even heavier on his leg.

They stayed that way for a while, Natasha's breathing slow and even with ease, Bucky massaging her neck and shoulders, pausing now and again so she could sip her tea. When the mug was empty Bucky set it aside for her, then leaned down for a soft kiss. The angle was odd but not uncomfortable, the kiss nearly upside-down, and Bucky kept it slow and soft, trailing his fingers over the tender skin of her throat. Natasha sighed, almost a moan, tipped her head back and curled a hand around the back of his head, holding herself out of the water with that grasp. Bucky balanced himself, taking her weight easily, let her set the pace and gave a quiet moan when she deepened the kiss, warm and wet, licked into his mouth and sucked softly on his tongue.

Natasha held him there long moments, kissed him breathless, warm and deep and bright but easy with it, not really building into anything more. This was good, for now, things close and soft between them, nothing needing to be said, but he wanted to say it anyways, when she pulled back for a breath. Bucky smiled at her, knew it was goofy and soft and he didn't care in the slightest.

“Welcome home, Natasha.”

 

* * *

 

Bucky padded silently down the hall to their room, tray of breakfast in one hand and an empty mug in the other. The house was still and dark in the moments before dawn, the night-owls having just gone to sleep, and the early risers not yet awake. He'd been quick and stealthy in the kitchen, boiled water for tea, sliced a few pieces of fruit, two bowls of yogurt, and buttered toast. Miraculously, someone had done the dishes the night before, so the kitchen had been...tolerably clean. He'd still spent an extra ten minutes gathering trash and wiping down counters but he knew the rest could wait until after breakfast.

He nudged the bedroom door open with his wrist and slipped into the room, then closed it behind him with a soft click. Natasha was still asleep, sprawled half on his side of the bed, he could just make out the shape of her under the covers in the predawn light. Ever a light sleeper, she stirred as he neared the bed and set the tray on the bedside table, careful not to knock over the shield leaning against it. That clatter was the last thing they needed.

Bucky sat on the edge of the bed and turned on the little reading lamp on his side, throwing soft, warm light over the bed that didn't quite penetrate the corners of the room. He combed his fingers through Natasha's hair, catching on tangles as he pulled it off her face and tucked it behind her ear. She made a sleepy noise, brow creasing as she woke slowly under his touch.

“Good morning,” Bucky said, barely more than a whisper, smiling fondly at her as she stretched, lithe as a cat, then relaxed back into the bed, blinking slowly up at him.

“'Time is it?” Natasha asked, her voice slurred thick with sleep.

“Early,” he answered simply. “Before five. I thought we could get some breakfast before they stampede the kitchen.” Bucky kissed her forehead, then sat up to indicate the tray beside him. Natasha lifted her head to peer at the tray with interest, then pushed herself up a little in bed to recline against the headboard. She looked tired, but not resentful at being awoken. She'd always enjoyed mornings more than Bucky himself.

“What's the occasion?” she wondered, pulling the covers up over her chest, silk nightie hanging loosely off her shoulders. Bucky just held a hand to his ear, miming listening, but the only sound was the indistinct noise of a passing car on the street below. The house was completely still and silent.

“That,” he whispered, with an excited grin. Natasha smiled and laid her head back, closed her eyes as though luxuriating in the quiet.

“That's what I thought ,” Bucky said, and handed Natasha the mug of tea first, then picked up a bowl of fruit for himself. They ate slowly and quietly, talking in hushed tones like they might disturb the moment. When Bucky was finished eating he laid his head in Natasha's lap, and she played absently with his hair as she sipped her tea, scratching her nails lightly over his scalp and down his neck. He groaned quietly and closed his eyes, burying his face in her thigh.

When Natasha set her empty mug on the nightstand light was beginning to filter in around the edges of the curtains and the traffic sounds were picking up outside. She pushed at Bucky to move so she could lay back down in the bed beside him, lifting the covers for him to join her. They had nowhere to be for hours yet, and the house was still beautifully quiet, the bed warm and soft and both of them comfortably drowsy from eating.

Bucky curled his arms around her, pulled her close so they were pressed together, kissed her soft and sweet. Natasha smiled against his lips and wriggled closer, hooked her leg over his thigh, and kissed him again, a little deeper but still sleepy and loose. Bucky ran his hand down her back and up again, enjoying the soft silk and her softer skin against his fingers, the way she arched into his touch and sighed. They kissed for a while, lazy and gentle but with growing warmth, pausing now and again for a breath, for wandering kisses along his jaw or down to her neck, nothing rushed but gaining momentum nonetheless.

Natasha shifted her hips restlessly, pressed against his thigh and shifted away again, until she lifted her leg higher, over his hips, and he moved his thigh between hers, gave her the pressure she desired as she worked her hips slowly against him, her breath softly panting over his lips, into his ear, as she moved. Bucky lost himself in kissing her neck, the press of her body all along his and the fluid roll of her hips, the spot of wet heat he felt on his sweatpants where she pressed herself closer and closer.

Finally Natasha pulled back a breath, pushing at the hem of his sweatpants, and he helped her push them down around his knees, kicking them off beneath the covers. When he reached to do the same for her he couldn't resist teasing her briefly with with his fingers on the wet slick of her panties, till her hips twitched against his hand and she gave a breathless laugh, shoved at his shoulder playfully, and he grinned and pushed them down and off her obligingly.

Natasha swung her leg over his hips and then she was easing him inside, sighing out a moan against his shoulder in sweet relief. Bucky panted into her neck, groaned, she was so wet and the slide would be easy but he just held steady for her, let her swirl her hips and rock down on him bit by bit, working him in torturously slow, her fingers digging into his back as she teased herself on him until finally, finally her hips met his and he was filling her all the way. She moaned deep in her throat, pushed her hips closer against his but they were already flush together, and Bucky gathered himself, pulled himself back from the dizzying edge, she was so hot inside, surrounding him utterly but Natasha _wanted,_ and all he wanted was her pleasure, to give her that.

He pulled almost entirely out of her with that same slowness she'd used, setting an easy pace that had her moaning against his throat, fingers tangling in his hair as she met his thrusts with an easy roll of her hips, like she was pulling him in and closer with every thrust.

It wasn't long before her rhythm started to fall apart and she pushed her hand into the space between them while Bucky kept pressing into her, and a moment later she was coming, muffled moaning against his neck as she clung to him, writhing in his arms. The squeezing, pulling force of her climax coupled with her voice in his ear tumbled Bucky right after, burying a groan against her neck through the rush of pleasure.

Time spun out, and Bucky thought he might have dozed off for a few seconds, Natasha still wrapped warmly around him, her body loose and relaxed, and he came back to himself as she kissed softly along his neck. He hummed deep in his chest and smiled against her skin, dislodged one arm to push the covers down around their waists, the heat between them now sticky-sweaty and too much, and Natasha gently eased her hips from his with a huff of breath, and laid back against the bed catching her breath. Bucky turned to her and grinned, pressing a kiss to her shoulder where he could reach without moving, his own muscles pleasure-heavy.

They lay there panting and cooling off, and Bucky considered going back to sleep, it would be so easy to just drift off again with Natasha half in his arms, and she seemed to feel the same, blinking slowly at him like she was on the verge of dozing.

A door down the hall thudded shut, obnoxiously loud in the silence. Footsteps echoed down the hall which became an unsettling patter along the wall outside their door and then possibly moved to the ceiling. Bucky sighed. Across the hall came the noise of Logan falling out of bed with a spectacularly heavy thud, knocking over what could only be a large pile of crumpled beer cans.

Natasha groaned and rolled against Bucky's side, burying her head under his arm. He patted her shoulder in mock comfort. Things fell quiet for a brief moment, and Bucky again thought of sleep, surely that would be the worst of the noise from Peter and Logan for a while--

On the other side of the wall baby Cage started crying. Quick, heavy footsteps followed as Luke Cage (had to be Luke, so heavy) headed down the hall for Logan's room. That wouldn't end nicely. Or quietly.

Natasha just started to laugh. He joined her helplessly, he supposed hoping for more than a few minutes peace was a tall order in a house full of Avengers. Natasha lifted her head, her eyes creased as she chuckled still.

“Nice of them to wait till we finished,” she noted, grinning. Bucky laughed, shook his head ruefully.

“Yeah that's them. All courtesy,” he responded, and kissed her forehead. He stretched and sat up, and Natasha followed suit. But he left their bed without even a twinge of disappointment, after all, there were worse ways to start the day.

 

* * *

  

“Hey...”

Natasha jerked awake, groggy, and stared at the ceiling, trying to pull her exhausted senses together, wondered that the nurse was back so soon, hadn't she just closed her eyes? It registered then, finally, whose voice it had been, and she turned to the hospital bed a few feet away, where James was looking at her, blinking tiredly himself. She thought her own heart might have stopped, after two weeks, she'd scarcely dared to hope he might still open his eyes.

“My god,” Natasha gasped, her own voice sleep rough and shaking as she stood, stepped up beside the bed to look him over, clasping her hands together to still their trembling. “You're _awake_. It _worked,_ ” she went on, thinking of Fury's infinity serum, all the surgeries, it had been the long shot of all longshots, a shred of a chance, but here he was talking and looking around and _alive_. James worked his mouth, swallowed, glanced around the room and back at her.  
“What-what happened?” He asked, more voice than croak this time, looking down to graze his fingers over the bandages on his chest. The damage Sin did had been, well, catastrophic, but she knew under the bandages he was whole again, and healing, that he'd have scars but without that serum, he would have, he wouldn't--  
“You _died_ , James,” she said, put a little smile on her lips as she said it, because he hadn't and she was not going to cry on him over something that hadn't even happened. She pulled the chair she'd been sleeping in closer to the bed and sat down again, grasped his hand in both of hers, body-warm metal smooth and comforting as he gently squeezed her hands in return. He grinned back, wide and lazy, managed to look the rogue even with his pale face and gaunt cheeks and dark circles under his eyes. _Insufferable_. Her heart squeezed.

“Oh, _that_ again...that trick _never_ works,” he quipped, and she pulled his hand to her lips, hoping it hid the way her smile trembled and slid off her face, closed her eyes against the prickle of tears. He was awake, smart-assed bravado and all. She let out a shuddering breath, pulled herself together.

“No, not with you, apparently. You're too stubborn,” Natasha said, proud of how steady her voice was as the moment passed, the knot in her throat loosening a little. She held his hand for a long moment, taking a slow breath, the scent of his sweat and antiseptic and the tang of metal and blood. James shifted, sitting up a little straighter with a quiet grunt of effort, a wince of pain, looking a little more aware now.

“How long...have I been...hey, where's _Steve_?” James asked, looking worried. He'd gone down in the midst of a global crisis, after all, and just because they'd won the day didn't mean everyone was ok, as they both knew all too well. Natasha didn't flinch, she was prepared for this moment. Let him wake up a little more before she told him everything. For now all he needed to know was that--

“Steve's fine. We won, but there's a lot to clean up still. You've been out nearly two weeks, James,” Natasha kept her voice even, the best lies were those never told at all, sometimes. She knew the moment James found out Rogers believed him dead he'd be stumbling off to talk to him. He needed to consider the situation rationally before he blew his cover. He had a rare opportunity here and she wanted him to have the option of taking it, if he wanted.

James laid back against the pillows, apparently satisfied with her answer. Natasha still held his hand in both of hers, closed her eyes again tiredly and felt herself sway a little, even sitting down. Between helping with clean up efforts and waiting for James to wake up, she'd barely taken a moment to rest since the Blitzkrieg. Even Natasha had her limits, and the sheer relief of seeing James awake and alright was hitting her harder than she anticipated.

James pulled his hand away from her, but only to raise it to her cheek, hold her jaw in his palm.

“Hey, 'Tasha,” he said quietly. “We won,” he rubbed his thumb over he cheek and she smiled softly, looked up at him and nodded once. Natasha lingered there a long moment, enjoying the quiet warmth of his hand on her face, unyielding metal nevertheless gentle and comforting, she could almost fall asleep just like this. Then she kissed his palm once more and sat back, leaned to pick up the jello cup she'd been saving for herself off the tray table.

“And to the victors, the spoils,” Natasha intoned, holding it out for James to take. He frowned at it dubiously.

“No victory burger, huh?” he asked hopefully, though he had to know the answer already. She just smiled at him, shook her head.

“Two weeks without solid food,” Natasha reminded him, still holding out the snack. “Take it slow.”

Instead of taking the cup James pressed his hands against the bed, scooting slowly and painfully to the far side of it as best he could. Natasha let him; he'd healed exceptionally fast, thanks to the Infinity Serum, she knew he was likely sore as anything but his wounds were closed and looked like they'd been that way for weeks, not days. When he settled again he held out his hand for her.

“Sit with me?” James smiled at her, watery and groggy though it was after the effort of moving. She shouldn't, probably, the doctors would have fits just knowing that he'd moved on his own, but he was still holding his hand out, eyes not quite pleading and he looked about as unsteady as she felt. She'd be lying if she said the bed didn't look infinitely more comfortable than the chair she'd been fitfully sleeping in the last few days.

Natasha took his hand and stood, tucked herself into the space he'd made in the bed, careful where she pressed against him, minding his chest especially. The swelling around his shoulder had finally gone down three days back, and they'd been able to repair the joint mechanism and attach a new arm for him since then. James put his arm around her shoulders and tugged her in close anyways, grip strong and sure, his body warm against her in the chill of the medical suite. She wriggled a little to get comfortable, then popped open the jello and held it out for him. James huffed out a resigned laugh and took the spoon.

“I'm not getting a say in this, am I?” he asked, stabbing the spoon into the gelatin. Natasha smiled wryly at him.

“Not if you want that burger anytime soon,” she said. James sighed dramatically but turned his head and kissed her temple, then held out the spoonful of green jello to her. She stared at it.

“We both know red is my favorite,” James stated, still holding the spoon. “And I know for a fact green is yours. So,” he smirked. “The least you can do is share with me.” Natasha's stomach chose that moment to grumble traitorously. She'd barely eaten that day, truthfully. It was her jello, after all.

“Deal,” Natasha agreed, leaning forward to eat the offered bite. She laid her head back on his shoulder, let her eyes drift closed, lulled by his warmth. She felt like she'd been cold for days, and only realized it now that his heat was seeping into her, dragging her slowly down toward dozing. She drifted some, but dutifully held the jello cup as he took bites, lifting her head when it was her turn and then relaxing back again.

They finished the jello at last, it felt like a ridiculously long time for so little food but Natasha was barely awake, and James was tired and weak himself, his hand betraying only the smallest shake through sheer force of will, she knew. He'd be strong again soon, he could be tired and shaky today, that was fine.

Natasha set the spoon back on the tray by the bed, and threw the empty plastic cup across the room into the small wastebasket by the door, it landed perfectly in the trash bag with a small thunk.

“Three points,” James murmured, resting his cheek on the top of her head, his words a gentle slur in her ear. Natasha could feel the beat of his heart against her shoulder, his every breath rustling her hair, the warmth of his body all along hers, the hard, gentle grasp of his arm around her shoulders, altogether more comfortable than she'd been in days. James' breath evened out within moments, his heady leaning heavily against her. Natasha followed him down into the welcoming darkness of sleep.

 

* * *

 

The hallway outside the apartment was dingy and dimly lit, but altogether clean and well-kept for this part of town. Natasha turned the brass '5' beside the door right-side up, and knocked softly three times. She scanned the hall subtly as she waited, keeping her guard up while looking as comfortable as any young woman might in a place like this at 4 a.m., which was to say, not very. Natasha was neither young nor 'any' woman, but in a well-used woolen peacoat and her hair loose around her shoulders, she knew that was all she appeared to be.

There was movement on the other side of the door, and Natasha moved the bag she held to her other hand and knocked again.

“Kdo je to?” Barnes asked gruffly, without opening the door.

“To já,” Natasha replied patiently, and smiled a little as the door was unlocked and opened.

Barnes stood in the doorway for an almost awkwardly long moment staring at her with poorly hidden confusion. He was shirtless, in flannel pajama bottoms, and seemed fresh from the shower. In one hand he held a gun, and with the other he held a thick wad of gauze to his right side. He opened his mouth, closed it, and opened it again.

“Natasha,” he managed finally, and stepped aside to let her in, laying the gun down on a small table by the door. “Is everything ok?” As soon as she stepped inside he bolted it behind her.

“Fine. I went out for food and thought you might be hungry,” Natasha said, holding the bag up as proof of her explanation. “Kozicka has amazing steak and knedliki,” she moved past him to set the takeout on the small kitchen table. The room was tiny, but cozy, sparsely furnished and not quite cramped with just the two of them standing in it. It was nice, as safehouses went, neat and well-kept.

When she turned away from the table Barnes was still by the door, a deer-in-headlights roundness to his eyes, his mouth hanging open a little.

“But I can take mine back to my room, if this is a bad time?” Natasha offered, a little unsure now that she was here, and given his reaction, maybe it was an overstep, and she'd read this wrong. She'd wanted to thank him for the assist, make a friendly gesture rather than both of them sitting around alone all evening. She knew what was in the past between them, the things she still couldn't recall beyond the occasional dream, or flash of an image, the few pictures she'd kept tucked away, taken by other Avengers. She and Barnes had looked...nice together, happy. She had no idea where this would lead them, where she wanted it to lead them, but she hoped they could be friends, at least. People like them had too few friends to just let go without a fight.

But the last thing she wanted was to hurt him, either. She knew better than to assume this was something he wanted, too. Barnes seemed to finally recover from the shock of her arrival and shook his head vehemently.

“No, no, now is fine I—thank you. That sounds great, I just need to, uhh,” Barnes looked around, like he was caught between looking for something (a shirt, maybe, Natasha thought as she glanced at his chest briefly, appreciatively) and remembering what he'd been doing before she arrived.

“Finish up?” Natasha raised her eyebrows and nodded toward his side, where he'd started bleeding through the gauze held there. He followed her gaze and nodded.

“Yes, that,” Barnes agreed. “I'll just be a minute, make yourself at home,” he gestured to the table and chairs, then left the room before she could do more than nod. Natasha stood in the kitchen a moment, the offer to help him stalled on her lips.

She followed him when there was no sound of the bathroom door closing, took the few steps into the hall, tiny junction of doors that it was, and stood watching him through the open doorway. Barnes was twisted around, leaning on the wobbly sink and up on tiptoe, contorting himself to see what he was doing in the nearly-too-high vanity mirror. Natasha felt a twinge of amused sympathy, she knew this dance all too well herself.

He was still prepping the area when Natasha cleared her throat. She took a step forward when he looked up and held out her hand.

“May I?” Natasha offered, and watched as a series of emotions crossed his face in mere heartbeats, joy and guilt and eagerness and wariness all in a muddle, smoothed away in an instant. _Oh_. She would have to tread carefully indeed, here. Barnes swallowed hard and nodded, threw the alcohol swab he'd just used into the trash.

“Please,” he replied quietly, his voice gone rough. Natasha smiled, hoped it was reassuring, and set about washing her hands in the little sink, rolling up her sleeves to soap all the way to her elbows. She made small talk as her hands air-dried, hoping to relieve the tension filling the tiny room, ease the nerves evident in the bunching of his shoulders, the stiffness of his posture while he waited.

Barnes relaxed bit by bit as they talked shop, sharing what intel they could from their mutual mission earlier that day, and she found he was playful and smiled more easily than she'd expected, with a dark streak through his humor she found enjoyable. Gloves on, she leaned close and made short work of the gash in his side while he talked, the wound blessedly clean and even, made by a knife or glass, she guessed. He never flinched, of course, and when she was done she was pleased with her work, it would heal well and barely scar, she thought. Not that he had a shortage of scars anyways, old, new, and an impressive amount across his chest she knew must have been from his supposed death in the Blitzkrieg.

Natasha taped gauze over the spot as she finished, focusing on the sharp scent of antiseptic and not his clean freshly showered smell, she was not going to blush in the middle of giving this man stitches, so help her. He was terribly attractive though, rugged and lean with sharply defined muscle, heavy in the shoulders but she knew, had seen today, that he was incredibly flexible and fast. Without the mask she could see his eyes were a warm brown, wide and expressive, his emotions all right on the surface, there was nothing cold or distant about him. Interesting qualities in a spy, or an assassin, but she knew he was far more than that.

“All done,” Natasha told him, laid her hand briefly on his back, over the curve of his shoulder blade. Barnes looked back at her with a warm, if guarded, smile.

“Thanks Natasha,” he said, and she patted his shoulder once and left him to get dressed. She found plates easily in the small kitchen, and utensils, and Barnes came in as she was spooning the knedliky out for them, now wearing a loose long-sleeved blue shirt.

“Something to drink? I have water,” he asked, crossing to the refrigerator to look inside, “and uhh, water.” He pulled two bottles from inside and shut the door with a shrug.

“I think I'll have the water,” Natasha said, tone dry.

“Excellent choice,” he grinned, and the way it lit up his face made her breath catch. Natasha looked back at the food and what she was doing. _Easy, girl_ , the reminded herself. _Slow and easy on this one_.

They took their plates to the little living room and sat on the couch, which was really more of a love seat by American standards. His laptop was set up on a cabinet across from them, and he'd put on a cooking show, one of her favorites, really. She supposed he likely knew plenty of her favorite things, his Netpix account was probably full of them. Natasha wondered how many she'd added herself, and simply didn't remember having done it. The little lurch of feeling that followed was all too familiar, but would forever be unsettling. Right now it just made her a little sad, a little wistful, she _wanted_ to remember, more than anything. She hated that she couldn't, that this had been taken from her, from _them_.

And he'd been nothing but respectful to her, giving her space, never asking a thing of her, or begging her to remember, always careful, so careful to not do or say anything overly familiar. Even his choice in cooking show was friendly, but unassuming. He was trying to help her feel safe, she knew, but she found she already did. They'd worked together so well in the field, and not just because he knew what to expect of her, but she felt it like muscle memory, she'd turn her head and he was right where she expected him to be. She held onto her survival instincts, of course, she was watching him and learning all the time, but she trusted her intuition too. She liked him, she trusted him, and she wanted to know so much more. For now, that was all she needed.

By the end of the episode they were done eating, and snow was falling thick and heavy outside, sticking to the bottom of the window. Barnes asked her to stay and offered her the bed, looking ready to dig in his heels and bring up her recent leg injury as ammunition if need be, but she accepted gracefully. She was tired, and going back to her empty room felt like a depressing end to a good night. And he wasn't wrong, about the leg. She'd nearly slipped once on the way over, on a patch of black ice. Best to wait till morning.

At the door to the bedroom he handed her some of his own pajamas to sleep in, pants with a drawstring, and a fresh pillow for the bed. She took them with a nod, held them to her chest.

“Thanks for dinner,” Barnes said with a grateful smile. “And for coming by. It was really great.”

“You're welcome,” Natasha returned the smile, and kissed his cheek. He blinked at her, wide-eyed. “Thanks for having me. See you in the morning?” It took him a moment to catch up and do more than just stare at her, shaking off his moment of shock.

“Yeah, of course,” he stepped back but he was grinning again, his cheeks unmistakeably pink. “I'll be here. Goodnight.” Natasha moved throught the bedroom door and turned on the light.

“Goodnight, James.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> The Czech lines in the last scene translate to:  
> “Who's there?”  
> “It's me.”
> 
> Some of the lines from the post-Fear Itself scene are a direct lift from Fear Itself #7.1, which was written by Ed Brubaker. I filled in scene around it and then greatly extended it.
> 
> Endless gratitude to [Sakuratsukikage](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SakuraTsukikage/pseuds/SakuraTsukikage) for betaing and cheerleading me through this. Couldn't have done it without you. <3
> 
> Title from the song by the same name by Greg Laswell and Ingrid Michaelson.


End file.
